Disclaimer: The Keys to the Kingdom series does not in any way belong to me, it's the property of Garth Nix, etc.
Notes: These parts take place in roughly chronological order. Sunday's part immediately follows 'The (very important) Meeting of the Morrow Days (most of them anyway)' so I would suggest reading that first.
Pietro is the name I have given the Piper. Why? Uh, well, it kind of sounds like Piper.
The (mis)Adventures (in child-rearing) of the Morrow Days
[ Sunday ]
It being a Sunday, Sunday finds himself cradling Arthur gingerly and standing in an elevator with Friday's Dawn when the meeting ends. Usually he takes the Improbable Stair, since the normal elevators do not extend to the Incomparable Gardens, but Friday's Dawn has agreed to temporarily lend his supplies out until the other Trustees can make or acquire their own.
"How old is he?" Sunday asks, peering down into the boy's pale blue eyes. Arthur blinks up at him, in a disinterested sort of way.
"Four months, I believe," Friday's Dawn answers; he has a strange expression on his face, and he will not look away from Sunday or Arthur - as if he expects the boy to be dropped or something.
"He is quite small," Sunday says. Surely Tom and Pietro must have been this small once too, but he cannot recall it. Then again, he was never terribly interested in the Architect and the Old One's subsequent experiments with mortal life until his brothers were old enough to communicate with some degree of intelligence.
"Yes," Friday's Dawn says fretfully. "I do not know what will happen when he is old enough to crawl. The books assure me it will happen but I cannot imagine something so small moving around on his own power."
"If billions of mortals have managed it before him in their polluted Secondary Realms, I am certain Arthur will do fine in the House," Sunday says.
"Yes, but those billions of mortals are generally surrounded by other mortals who know what to do with a baby," Friday's Dawn mutters.
Sunday chooses to ignore that. "What have you been doing with Arthur when you go about your duties?" he asks.
Friday's Dawn shrugs, the plates of his armour clinking together. "I have been leaving my lieutenants in charge of the daily patrols of the Middle House, though I have been ready to leave Arthur in some of the Gilded Youths' care if my presence is needed. For duties on the Flat, which is the terrace under my command, I have brought Arthur along with me. Not to the Mill, of course; loud noises can be very damaging to a baby's hearing, or so I've read. But I do not often have cause to visit the Mill either."
"That seems sensible," Sunday says; thankfully, the elevator comes to a halt immediately afterward, bringing the conversation to a natural end. He had quite run out of things to discuss with Friday's Dawn, as he had little interest in the running of the Middle House.
Friday's Dawn leads him through a veritable maze of vast corridors. The floors are marble, supported by columns that seem altogether more grand than the Middle House really warrants. Friezes of Denizens clad in armour similar to Friday's Dawn's battling with Nithlings cover the walls.
He supposes it is nice enough, although his tastes run more towards the natural than the artificially created.
"This is the Gilded Barracks," Friday's Dawn explains. "In Aurianburg, on the Flat."
"I knew that," Sunday lies stiffly.
Friday's Dawn does not reply, coming to a halt before an ornately carved wooden door. He produces a key as mysteriously as he had Arthur's bottle earlier and opens it, stepping aside to allow Sunday to enter first. There is a simple bed in the middle of the room, an otherwise empty mannequin wearing the helmet that matches Friday's Dawn's armour beside, a fully-stocked bookshelf and a table on either side of the door. The table is overflowing with brightly coloured items and further books.
"Arthur's crib is collapsible," Friday's Dawn says, quickly demonstrating for Sunday. "Here are the books I think are most practical. I've read all of them, but some seem more useless than others." He stuffs them into a bright turquoise bag, along with more bottles, several metal cans that he tells Sunday are powdered formula, a pacifier (only to be given to Arthur at night), a supply of diapers, baby wipes and some other things that he explains but Sunday doesn't really understand.
Arthur makes a noise, craning his head around to look at Friday's Dawn.
The Denizen immediately goes on alert, his gaze zeroing in on Arthur. "What is it," he says.
Arthur waves his left hand and kicks his feet against Sunday's suit.
"Oh, Elephant," Friday's Dawn says, stalking over to the crib. "Yes, we can't forget that, can we, Arthur?" he croons, waving a bright yellow elephant at the baby.
Sunday tries not to stare at the strange spectacle then gives it up as futile.
Arthur claps his hands together and grabs the elephant's trunk in one chubby fist.
"Make sure he doesn't drop Elephant," Friday's Dawn orders gravely. "You don't want to know what happens if Elephant gets lost."
Sunday blinks, surprised at Friday's Dawn's audacity. "I have said I will take care of him," he says stiffly.
"According to Noon, the elephant was given to him by his birth parents before he died. It and his name are all that he has of them," Friday's Dawn says, looking at the baby. Arthur's chewing on the end of Elephant's trunk now. "Of course, Noon could be lying, but I do not see why he would in this case."
"Certainly," Sunday says.
"It's time to feed Arthur again. Would you like to try while I watch, in case you have any questions, Lord Sunday?" Friday's Dawn asks.
Friday's Dawn proceeds to demonstrate how to mix the formula and check if it is the proper temperature, then hovers closer than is really warranted while Sunday holds the bottle to Arthur's mouth.
"Now you need to burp him," Friday's Dawn says, approaching with a blanket. It's a hideous shade of orange; it would not go with Sunday's fashionable green apparel at all. The turquoise diaper bag is already pushing it.
"I do not need the blanket," Sunday says irritably. This is taking altogether longer than he would have expected. "Just show me how to do it."
Friday's Dawn helps him position Arthur upon his shoulder and tells him to gently pat the baby's back.
"What is the purpose-"
Something wet drips down his back.
Friday's Dawn has the strangest expression on his face. "E-excuse me," he says, and flees the room.
Sunday can still hear his laughter, muffled though it may be by the thick wooden door. It is fortunate that he does not particularly care for the opinions of those below him, otherwise he might have found himself embarrassed. As it is, he cleans himself with the Seventh Key, wipes Arthur's mouth with the corner of Friday's Dawn's duvet (it is the only convenient material; the action is in no way spiteful) and then waits for the Time to return.
"That... should be everything," Friday's Dawn says, his gaze riveted on Arthur. "If you have any questions I will be glad to answer them. There is a phone in my room, and in various places throughout the Barracks. I see no reason why I would not be nearby, should you require me."
"Thank you," Sunday says stiffly, and takes his leave.